File : Morgernstern
by Roluv3r
Summary: Clary is the 16 year-old, (second) best agent at Father's New York Institute of Crime. Constantly being outbeaten by her brother, she seeks Father's attention by digging a file out of the old archives. Little does she know, that she has started something that is unstoppably dangerous. Or that she is starting something between Father's archenemy, Jace, and herself. JacexClary.
1. Chapter 1

**A Routine Mission**

She can see the orange and black lights from mundane houses illuminating the street. It's a chilly night, a harsh breeze cutting through the air, raising hairs on her neck. She can see her own faint breath in the cold air, like smoke billowing out into the dark.

Dressed strictly in a black trench coat, shirt and slacks, she begins to walk. The hollow sound of her boots on the asphalt, is horribly loud. In front of each house, there is at least some form of decoration on display. Rays of a flickering candle glare out through triangular eyes and mouth of a pumpkin. Staring. Staring into the obscurity.

Some believe that these displays of supposed horror scare away some unknown evil, on this particular night.

Jack-O'-lanterns won't scare her away, really, nothing can scare her away.

A sharp sudden buzzing in her left ear, reminds her. Nothing will stop her from her mission tonight.

"Fray. Can you hear me?" The same lighthearted voice cuts in, as always.

She presses two fingers into the earpiece, and replies, "Affirmative."

"You don't have to go all professional on me." He accuses with a smile in his voice.

"Sorry, _Simon_. It's protocol. And-"

"-You like to stick to the rules, I know." Simon finishes for her.

She rolls her eyes.

"I can see that." He shoots in flatly. She almost forgot the cameras, stationed on each light pole. They'd done some recon a day before the mission, set up cameras nearly everywhere.

She suppresses a smile and continues walking. A light bump on her left leg, reminds her of the pistol safely stored in the inside of her coat. She's also got her two throwing knives, of course. She practically never goes on any mission without her knives tucked in to her boot. Actually, she never goes _anywhere_ without her knives.

"Did you tell your father?" Simon's voice cuts in again. Sometimes, she thinks, he doesn't understand that silence is golden. She needs the silence to think, to concentrate. She mostly needs it to prepare herself, before each mission.

But Simon is her best friend. They've practically been inseparable since the two were paired up as partners. Simon is a "labbie", meaning he works back at the office. Field agents, like her, tend to tease desk agents, calling them "lab rats". She knows, Simon takes it as a compliment, because he usually replies with a, "Somebody needs to get the paperwork done. God knows, you don't."

Being 16, most people would think it too young, to be associated with guns and criminal investigations of any sort. Not Father. Father, being in the Circle of the board members at NYIC, has been training her since she was a little girl. Instead of dolls and clothes, she was given knives and training gear. Instead of shopping and hanging out with friends, she was training. Always training. And her only real friend was her mother. Since she left them, she's only had Simon. Even Sebastian stopped seeing her as a sister. It was like something broke inside of him, the day their mother passed away, taking a piece of him with her. She was only 12 at the time, but she remembers. She remembers like it was yesterday.

"Clary?" Simon tries again.

She doesn't want to tell Father. She knows Father will be angry with her. Father has been training Clary her whole life to be an agent. But has he ever asked Clary what she wanted to do with her life? The short answer to that is no.

Clary realised a long time ago, that Father only cares about her career as an agent. He only wants his kids to be the agent, Father never could. He only sees as far as their careers, never pulling into another lane. But Sebastian doesn't have a hard time accommodating to the covert life. In fact, Sebastian enjoys it rather immensely. He ended up the best in the whole program, aside from Clary of course. She always came in second, and that included when it came down to picking favourites. Father had always preferred Sebastian, saving compliments for him and leaving the lectures and the pestering for Clary.

The only thing that kept Father quiet, was completing the program. So she did. And now, she'd officially graduated. The time was in. But everytime she summoned the courage to talk to him, an invisible hand closed around her throat. Threatening to clench tighter if she told him, because she was scared. Scared how he'd react, and that he'd completely cut off the already thin thread bonding them together as father and daughter. So she kept quiet. But she knew. She knew the truth was inevitable. And Simon was a reminder of inevitable, always inquiring. Always asking if she'd told Father yet.

Clary simply stopped trying to restore the broken bond between them, after five years of trying. She was disappointed of always asking Father if he wanted to do spend time with her, and always getting the same hard answer: Did you train yet? And since then, they've grown further and further apart. The only time they see each other, is at Christmas or at important mission briefings, because God forbid, he has better things to do than debrief one of the best agents at NYIC. At least that what he tells her.

She ignores Simon's question, and instead answers, "I'm about to engage." Meaning she is about to enter the house.

Clary hears a faint sigh on the other end followed by a "good luck" and then a small static thud. He muted his mic.

She smiles, this is her time to shine now. Maybe, she thinks, maybe this will finally gain Father's attention. She dug this mission file up in the old archives, the case was deemed closed 4 years ago. But after a closer look, the case should be anything _but_ closed. So many loose ends. So many questions left unanswered. If she achieves this, if she does this right, then she might have a chance with Father. This could be her way in.

She climbs the steps to the house. Rings the doorbell. As soon as the door opens, she pushes in with her right shoulder, effortlessly snatching her pistol from her coat. Holding both hands on the weapon, directed down, she enters carefully and silently. Like a predator cornering a prey.

A surprised cry fills the air. In less than a second she has her gun aimed at the source of the sound, which happens to be an old woman in a silk robe. Her hair looks messy, indicating she'd just gotten out of bed. Her small frail form is leaning up against the wall. Her big eyes look both frightened and fully alert. With a shaking hand, the old woman points to the top of the stairs.

Having identified her as a non-threat, she follows her instruction and treads as lightly as she can, up the stairs. The spiral staircase curls itself up and around, with an old antique railing on either side. She approaches slowly, careful not to make any creaking sounds on the wooden steps. With each step, she feels the familiar adrenaline course through her veins, a thrilling rush boiling her very blood. She's nearly at the top, and she can feel the feat of having accomplished the silent task. And then the wooden steps finally give in. A small creak makes her freeze in her footsteps. Her breathing catches and her heart almost stops beating for a second.

She waits, now more aware than ever. Pistol in hand, she waits for whatever threat ready to pounce on her. After several seconds of complete silence, and no threat, she makes her way up the rest of the way. Creeping up against the wall, she runs almost sideways. She needs to get out of here, the sooner the better. Already being exposed to the old woman downstairs, will drag her down in her report, she knows. This needs to be a quick hit and run.

Small voices at the end of the hall, draw nearer as she advances. The closer she comes, the more she can make of the voices.

"-need to leave! They'll... any minute!"

"Did you... the files? ...girl?"

"The Morg...stern..."

Suddenly her earpiece cuts in, "Fray! 3 unidentified threats coming your way!"

Then, out of nowhere, a hand clasps on her mouth and another snakes around her waist. Out of pure shock she drops her gun. It clatters to the ground with a loud _thud_. Footsteps in the next room grow frantic, a window is smashed, followed by shouting voices.

A low masculine voice curses loudly behind her. She tries to move her head, but whoever is holding her (she's guessing the man who shouted profanities in her ear earlier), definitely knows what he's doing. He's got her in an irontight headlock, not to mention body-lock. She struggles helplessly in his arms, while he continues shouting.

"Izzy! Alec! After them!" He yells. It seems, she concludes, that he is trying to deafen her hearing. His mouth is so close to her left ear, it starts ringing after his second round of shouting commands. And sure enough, not a second later two figures come running right past her, as if she were a fly on the wall. They hurdle themselves with surprising grace into the next room.

"Now. Are you going to behave, if I let you go?" The same low voice says into her ear. It seems rather quiet after his loud shouting earlier. His deep voice, sends a chill down her spine, and she has to force herself not to shudder. She can't answer, with his hand over her mouth, so she nods once with her head.

Slowly he releases her, finger after finger, hand after hand. She can still feel his touch on her mouth, still hot on her lips. As soon as his hands are off of her, she whips around, swinging her elbow up quick and hard at the man's gut. Her hit lands sure and swift, making the man stumble back, groaning slightly. As soon as her eyes take in the sight in front of her, her heart skips a beat.

Gold. The colour that stands out the most is his golden unkempt hair, falling down between his eyes, as his eyebrows draw together in a slight grimace. His lips crinkle in the most tempting way, and she has to tell herself to stop thinking about this. To stop thinking about _him_.

_Stop. He's an unidentified threat._ She reprimands herself. Looks and beauty were never things that had ever put her off before, and that made her even more wary of this new stranger.

"Don't come any nearer." She says with what she can only hope is her coldest voice. His head snaps up at her voice, their eyes locking. He narrows them for a split-second before a wide smile stretches across his face.

"Wasn't planning on it, sweetheart." He replies with a smirk. Oh, she loves the way his voice rumbles in the most delicious way possible, and the fact that he called her _sweetheart_. Normally she doesn't like nicknames, she hates it, in fact. But coming from him...She thinks it isn't as bad as when Simon calls her that.

"Who are you?" She asks, trying to stall him as she reaches down in her boot. She still has her knives.

"Who are _you_?" He retorts.

Silence.

"NYIC. New York Institute of Crime." She finally answers.

"CIA. I'm guessing I don't have to tell you what that's short for." He says, a corner of his mouth tugging up in a cocky smile. Everything about him screams sexy, his careless stance, although she knows that he could in less than a second, have her pinned up against the wall if he wanted. His golden perfect hair. His beautiful golden brown eyes staring into hers.

And then it struck her. This wasn't an ordinary CIA agent. This was Jace Wayland, _the_ Jace Wayland. The one Father was always going on about. The "cocky and arrogant bastard who keeps on messing with our agency", as Father so elegantly put it. It was just, that she had always pictured him much more unattractive and older. But he is, on the contrary, quite the opposite. He seems about 18 years old.

"Wait...You're...Jace Wayland." She says, more to herself, but he seems to hear it anyway.

"Ah yes. That's me. The notorious and charming Jace Wayland, at your service." He seems quite pleased that she recognised him. "And who are you, might I ask?"

"It's common courtesy to introduce yourself, you know." He tries again.

"Clary. Clary Fray."

"Yes, well, Clary, we're going to have to bring you in, I'm afraid."

* * *

**Hello dear readers,**

**Please review, if you think I should carry on with this story. Still not sure if I should yet :)**

**Have a good day!**

**~Roluv3r**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone,**

**Thank you so much for the reviews, you've all encouraged me to keep going!**

**Although I might not update as frequently, since I have exams coming up (ugh :/)**

**So, in this chapter, we might have a little JacexClary actionn...**

**Also, there might be some violent abuse in an orderly extent, but just a heads up :)**

**Info: So I'm trying a new way of introducing characters into the story. Whenever a new character is introduced, it will be written in bold. This is the world through Clary's eyes, so when she sees these characters, this will be what she thinks of. I thought this way was fun and different, and also in a way, more natural to read. Or I don't know, tell what you think ;)**

* * *

**Purple Marks**

"This is absolutely ridiculous! She is an _agent_!" Father's voice booms through the interrogation room. He is standing with a middle-aged woman dressed in black. Her elegant black hair is tied up into a tight bun. She stands awfully straight, and her beauty makes it hard to believe that she is the head of the CIA.

**Head of CIA : Maryse Lightwood**

Her heels make her look taller than she actually is, and her eyebrows are drawn together in a slight frown. She replies back with a simple hand gesture towards Clary and a hushed answer. Clary is standing in the middle of the room, she refuses to sit down. Before Father came in, that is, she was sitting. As soon as he walked in, the tension changed, and she could not stop feeling Father's eyes boring into the back of her head. She had stood up immediately. Exactly like a soldier does when their lieutenant walks in, she couldn't help but think.

The interrogation room was a big one, she knew, NYIC also had one exactly like this. A one-sided mirror at the far end, revealed the bags under her eyes, her unkempt red and fiery curls falling down on her shoulders. She looked wild, yet professional. Clary looked into the one-sided mirror, wondering if Jace was standing behind it, looking at her. Instantly, she cast the thought away, feeling a light brush creep on to her cheeks. It was most absurd that she was thinking about Father's enemies in anything but a negative light.

An enemy of Father's was an enemy of Clary's. She had learned that early on.

The mumbled voices in the far corner of the room, draws back Clary's attention. An icy shudder works it way down Clary's spine, but she supresses it. Father's face is no longer one of anger, it is completely smoothed over. He could just as easily have been a stone statue. His face looked scarily neutral, but she knew the hidden facade under this mask of calmness. His eyes were shooting daggers, his lips were pursed. This side of Father is the scary one, Clary thinks, when he is _this_ angry, someone always gets hurt.

Father nods once, before nodding his head once in Clary's direction, signaling that to follow him. She begins to walk towards Father, as he turns around and strolls out of the interrogation room. He has his hands in his pocket, letting the end of his long coat fall back in the wind. He doesn't look back once. Clary passes Maryse on the way out. Maryse looks frustrated, her lips pursed, her jaw set and a fire in her eyes. Clary nods once on her way out, before passing through the door.

As soon as she is outside, in the fresh wind of the first November days, she feels a heavy weight lifted off of her shoulders. The sun is shining its last rays of the day down on the city of New York. Looking at her watch, she realises she's been in there for 11 hours. With the worry gone, she can really feel the tired corners of her mind, dragging her down. She follows Father out and to his car. His bodyguard nods and smiles at Clary. She grins back, as he holds his hand out.

**Father's Bodyguard : Luke Garroway.**

Clary bumps his fist, as she's done ever since she could remember. Luke holds the door for Father, but he doesn't get in. He stops just before he's about to get in and turns around slowly. Clary can't see his eyes, his dark sunglasses make him look like the head of a mafia, she thinks, instead of a crime-fighting agency. Clary looks down, as she feels Father's hard stare on her.

"I'm sorry, Father." She says. "I'm sorry for embarrassing the agency. But this file, it's supicious, don't you think? The-"

"Leave the case alone, and stay out of it, Clarissa." He cuts her off, his smooth voice like a razor edge, cutting into Clary's heart.

"But-"

"Stay. Out. Of. It." He spits. His face is shaking in anger. This must be from the conversation earlier with Maryse. When he gets angry, someone always gets hurt. Behind him, Clary sees Luke's clenched hands shaking. Luke looks away, at anywhere except her.

"I'm sorry." Clary says again despondently and solemnly.

Father doesn't reply. He wants to see her walk away in shame, she realises. So she begins to walk away, but a hand catches her wrist. For a split-second her heart wells up in hope, that maybe Father regrets his choice. She has never gotten Father's permission for anything even relatively important, and yet she had done them anyway. But it would be nice, she thinks, if he for once would support her. That hope shrivels and dies when she feels his tightening hold on her wrist. She squirms and tries to pull out of his grasp. A hot fire ignites on the arm, and her wrist writhes with agony. She gasps in surprise and pain.

"Stop, Father!" She whisper-shouts.

They are in the parking lot, a couple of cars come and go. None look more than twice their way, thinking this is an earnest father-daughter chat.

As if it could get even tighter, he squeezes harder and leans his head down intimidatingly. She feels all the blood has been squeezed out of her arm. Her bones in her arm feel like they will break, and she feels tears pressing on. She widens her eyes and blinks them away, tries to blink away the agonising pain. She refuses to cry in front of him.

"Don't mess with this file Clarissa. You're starting something bigger than yourself." He whispers, his voice is so cold she fails to suppress the shudder that runs down her whole body, "Don't be an idiot, Clarissa. Use your head for once, like your brother." She stares back at him for some time, trying to focus on anything but the pain.

"Are we clear?" She feels his eyes behind his sunglasses, bore into her eyes. There is silence for the longest time, the tension filling over the brim with anxiety and coldness. The pain is so great, it starts to numb her wrist. She can feel the tingly sensation spreading through her whole arm like wildfire.

A throat clears behind them.

"Sir. We're going to be late for your 6 'o clock." Luke says behind him.

And as though a switch had been turned, his face snaps into neutral folders again.

"Ah. Yes, of course. We'd better get a move on then." He says over his shoulder, not breaking eye contact with Clary.

He lets go of Clary's wrist, and turns around without another word. Clary lets out a relieved and shaky breath as she feels the chilly air on her wrist. The coldness of the early evening wind, stings her sore ligament. Father swings himself elegantly into the the slick, black Audi, as if nothing has happened.

"It would do you well to remember our little chat, Clarissa." He says conversationally, not even bothering to look at her. Luke closes the door behind him, and begins to walk around to the front of the car. He doesn't look especially happy. On the way, he brushes his hand on her arm, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

She smiles the slightest bit, as he nods goodbye and sets himself in the driver's seat. A minute later, they're gone. First after Father is out of sight, does she dare look down. A shaky gasp is let out of her, as she sees the dark red-purple finger marks licking their way around her wrist. She can feel it throbbing. Throbbing with pain and loneliness.

She blinks her tears away, not wanting to cry in public. Tugging her coat longer down her arms to hide the purple marks, she begins to head home. Then it hits her. The CIA had confiscated her weapons, her throwing knives. She needed to get them back. Father had given them to her once, a long time ago, and she'd been using them ever since. They'd been a present for her, when Mother was still alive. Those days were long gone, but her knives were a reminder of those days. She'd do anything to get them back.

With a sigh, she begins to make her way back to the big glass swing doors, that made up CIA's grand entrance.

* * *

She'd seen him as soon as she'd gone inside.

"Why Clary! I didn't know I was quite _that_ handsome." He winks, leaning against a marble pillar with his hands in his pockets. "But you know what they say...They always come crawling back." He grins toothily.

She ignores the urge to smile. Deep red and pink rays of sun shine on his beautifully golden hair, making it seem as if he had a halo. Clary rolled her eyes, "I didn't come for you, jackass. I came for my knives."

Jace feigns a shocked face. "What?!" He cries, "I thought I was your one and only!"

"Will you tell me where they are?" She says.

"Why should I?" He asks, one side of his lips tugging up in a careless smile. "I'm not sure I like these 'knives'."

"Look," She says one final time, gesturing with her hands, "Will you help me or not?" She vaguely registers the sleeves tug down as she tries to gesture with her hands.

"Hm. I like a little competition." He pretends to mull it over, "Okay. Those knives are in for a hell of a competition then!"

Clary simply rolls her eyes.

Suddenly his eyes darken considerably, "Where've you been?"

She scrunches her nose in confusion, "What?"

"It's an easy question," He says, his voice has lost his usual care-free tone, "Where've you been?"

He seems wary and suspicious. It strikes her, just how fast, he can change his mood. It makes her doubt his former care-free self.

"With Father, outside in the parking lot." Clary says slowly, being careful to leave out any unnecessary details.

His jaw muscles tighten, and his eyebrows draw together. He looks so handsome like this, she thinks, if she could just run her fingers through his hair— she quickly stops herself.

He begins walking away, and not knowing what to do, she follows him. He doesn't say anything about it, instead waits for her inside the elevator and presses "FLOOR 38", as she steps in. He leans against the railing, his hands in his pockets again. He's thinking about something. She would do anything to know what he is thinking. The elevator begins to shoot upwards, and they are plunged into silence again.

After a while, when they pass floor 16, he finally says something.

"Why do you let him do it?" He says.

She stares back at him. "Do what?"

He looks down at her arm. She looks down herself, and to her horror she realises her coat sleeve has been tugged up. It must've been when she was gesturing and talking to Jace earlier. The red has turned to purple, and the fingermarks resemble much like that of flames licking up and around her wrist. She looks down, not being able to meet Jace's eyes.

"I-I..." Her voice dies.

"Valentine gives me the creeps." He says. "That guy is a damned awful bastard."

Clary laughs colourlessly, all traces of humour gone. "He's my father."

Silence once again.

"You choose your family." Jace finally says so lowly, she wasn't sure he'd said it at all.

Clary still hasn't looked up yet, she keeps on looking at her wrist. As if on command, it starts throbbing again. She bites her lip to keep the pain at bay.

Suddenly she feels a finger hook under her chin. She lifts her head slowly, and her heart skips a beat. Jace is standing in front of her, looking down at her. Staring into her eyes, searching them.

"Not the other way around." He whispers, finishing his previous statement.

She lets out a shaky breath, her heart is racing against her ribs. Thudding so loudly, she's afraid he can hear it. His face is so beautifully rough and pretty at the same time. He looks different than he usually does. Something about him feels _real_, feels more alive than before. She likes him this way, she realises, real and vulnerably alive.

Then the elevator dings overhead, and the doors open. She jerks away from his reach, stepping out of the elevator a little shakily. She has never been this attracted to boys before, sure they were after her, but never the other way around.

When did she begin to _feel_?

Behind her, Jace strides forward. His usual reckless bad-boy smile is plastered back on his face. But somehow, it looks fake now. It looks like a mask, hiding him away from everybody else. Having seen the _real_ him, makes his usual attitude seem like a mask he dons.

She walks behind him, feeling awkwardly exposed and vulnerable for the first time in forever.

"Wait here." He says with his usual smile. There is absolutely no sign of the elevator-indicident on his face. Everything that shows his true self is gone again, and she misses the other side of him, suddenly. She doesn't know what it is about him, but when she is with him, she feels different. He's like a drug, so unresistably addictive and bad.

"Hey." A girl walks by with long dark hair. She definitely looks like a cover model, with the long thin legs, beautiful features and the soft long hair billowing around her. She looks undeniably a lot like Maryse. Just a great deal younger and taller.

"You're the girl Jace brought in." She says, cocking her head slightly, in a frown. Then a huge smiles breaks free on her face, making her even prettier, if that's even possible.

She reaches her hand forward, "I'm Izzy."

**CIA Agent : Isabelle Lightwood.**

"Well, Isabelle Lightwood, but let's skip formalities, shall we?" She laughs. Even her laugh seems from something out of a fairytale book.

Slowly and a little hesitantly, Clary takes her hand and shakes it.

"I'm Clary Fray." She smiles back, she's never met anyone as open and warm as Izzy.

She likes it, she decides.

"Already making friends, are we?" Jace comes back with a plastic bag and a cocky smile on his face. A label on the packet reads: _Clary Fray, Belongings._ Her weapons and beloved throwing knives are inside, she sees.

Izzy glares at Jace, punching him hard in the shoulder.

"I'll see you around, right Clary?" She calls, as she begins to walk away. She mumbles a string of words as she passes Jace. Clary catches the words; jerk, ass and pig. Her dark hair catches in the wind, as she walks away.

Jace laughs a little to himself, before turning around to face Clary. "You ready?"

In his hands are a set of keys and the plastic bag with Clary's weapons. He hands her weapons over as a peace offering.

"Thank you." She says swiftly, taking the bag in her arms. Instantly she tears open the bag and puts her knives in her boots. Two guns on either side of her inside coat pocket. The last gun she tucks in her waist. First after this, does she realise Jace's eyes on her. They stay a little longer on her, before she turns around and blushes, as she asks, "Ready for what?"

"I'm going to drive you home." He replies without blinking, as if it is the most natural thing to do.

"I'm quite capable of getting home by myself, thank you." She stated blandly. She just wanted to go home, and ice her wrist. And be alone.

A slight pang resonates inside her as she realises the latter.

"Right." He says sarcastically. "Look, it's dark, it's cold and there are plenty of wackos out there, ready to take advantage of you. I'd rather skip any unneeded drama."

The straight-forwardness takes Clary aback for a moment. "You don't think I can handle myself?"

"I do. I just want to behave like a gentleman." He winks, and pressed down for the elevator. My cheeks burn at the thought of another elevator ride with Jace. "And also, your knives are accompanying you home. I need to up my game."

"I don't need a gentleman." She says.

"Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all. "By order of Maryse."

Her heart sinks the slightest bit. "Oh. Okay then."

He hadn't genuinely wanted to take her home. If anything, the gas was probably courtesy of the CIA anyway.

"Besides, everyone needs a gentleman."

The elevator dings, and they step into the elevator again. For the first time since Mother died, she felt taken care of again. It felt nice, she concluded, to know somebody wanted you safe.

* * *

**Hello again!**

**Please read and review! **

**I hoped you liked the chapter; comments are much appreciated! :))**

**~Roluv3r**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hellooo,**

**so I had time to spare, and**

* * *

** I started writing...**

**Here goes.. :)**

**Oh wait! Before I start, I want to say a big THANK YOU to all your reviews! Especially the review that told me to keep on going and wrote a nice long inspirational text to me, you motivated me to start this chapter, so kudos to you, my friend. (also your review has been duly noted;) )**

**And THANK YOU to the two guests who reviewed! You guys are awesome, and I love your comments, especially about someone wanting their Jace, haha, I WILL GIVE YOU MORE JACE!**

**So... Enjoy :)**

* * *

**An Unexpected Alliance**

"I don't think, it's supposed to bend like that." Clary points out, leaning back on Simon's desk. She was back at NYIC headquarters downtown. It'd been a week since she'd last seen Jace, and Father, for that sake.

"What are you talking about?" Simon scoffs, "Let the nerd, be the nerd."

Clary rolls her eyes, as she watches Simon try to fix her favourite handgun. Last week, when Jace had dropped her off, she'd stupidly caught the hammer spur on his car handle, pulling out the barrel and the grip frame. Honestly, she'd been distracted by the whole essence of him, and focused too much on him, that she hadn't payed attention to her own belongings.

She cursed herself for being so stupid.

Jace had laughed, his golden eyes glinting in the night. She could easily recall the way her cheeks had reddened at the way he'd laughed, it felt so familiar and _intimate_. She'd cast it all aside, as he drove her home. She lived at a huge NYIC-institute, this one was the official institute of New York. It housed all the travelling agents, and herself, seeing as Father was the head of NYIC and owned the place.

So when they had pulled out on the driveway, she was in a hurry to leave. She didn't want him to see, that she wasn't living in a normal home with a normal family. Although the latter had already been proven otherwise. When he turned the keys, and the engine shut off, she was about to get out when he'd stopped her.

Jace had touched her arm.

And it felt like a thousand tiny sparks of electricity shot up her arm, and she had to fight down shudders. She'd slowly turned her head to look into his deep beautiful eyes.

"If anything happens, you'll call me right?" He asks.

Clary froze. She wasn't used to this sudden show of familiarity between them.

"What?" She'd all but sputtered.

"I know it'll be hard to stay away from me, so if you need to call me," He popped the cap off a sharpie and proceeded to write a handful of digits down on her arm, "feel free to do so."

He winked once, before she finally came to her senses again. She jerked away, angry with herself.

"I will." She smirked, getting out of the car, "If my toilet needs plumbing, I'll know who to call."

Then she'd turned around and stalked back into her house, thanking whatever supernatural being that would listen, that he didn't notice her cheeks burning. That was some time ago. Now she fishes her phone out of her pocket and stares at the number.

She feels her finger hover over the green button. She wants to call him.

Instead she taps the "back" button and locks the screen. She can't afford any distractions right now, or Simon would see right through her.

Beside her, Simon grumbles and fidgets with the gun as if it were some superhuman object. She bet he was pretending her gun to be none other than Thor's beloved hammer, and that the fixing of this hammer would no doubt lead to world peace. He loves anything and everything with superheroes, she laughs inside, as Simon continues to repair completely oblivious to her thoughts.

Finally a click resounds from the gun, and Simon holds it out from his chest, staring triumphantly at it.

"Ha!" He says pointedly, "I told you it was supposed to bend like that."

Clary sighs and smiles, letting the gun fall back into her hands. She feels her fingers instinctually intwine and grip the gun, basking in the feeling of the familiar bumps and ridges moving along her skin, as she turns the safety off and on. Then she tucks it in to the waistline of her pants, smiling thankfully at Simon.

"Thanks Simon. You're the best." She grins.

She slumps down on the chair behind her, attempting to get at least some work done. Simon was already well off, typing away on his four-by-four machine-beast screen of a computer. He was nearly just as alone as she was, she thought, looking over at the way he occasionally crinkled his nose, lifting his round glasses a tiny bit off his nose. He'd been outcast from his family at a young age, and the agency had recruited him from there. Nobody had ever found out why, and she of all people understood the importance of privacy.

She lives for secrets and distance. Regardless, he'd been her best and loyal friend ever since she could remember. Heck, she smiles, he still is.

She blinks, steeling her gaze back to her own computer screen. Hers was a quite mundane model of a computer, nothing compared to Simon's, but she didn't care. When she came down here, it was either to hang out with Simon or to fill out paperwork, which, she thought, Simon helped her with anyway.

Without thinking, she opens a new tab on her browser and turns secret searching on. Then she types in the two words that have been haunting her the whole day, into the database.

After looking at his profile for what seemed like an eternity, she finally concludes that she might have misjudged the arrogant carefree jerk he seemed to be. Even though there is surprisingly little about Jace Wayland, he had no real blood-relative. That is probably why, she realises, he'd told her that family is something you choose.

* * *

**JACE WAYLAND:**

Born: 1997

Member of the C.I.A. since: 2007

Family: Dead. No living relatives. Currently living under Lightwood care.

Achievements: Highest ranking agent. Top scores.

* * *

Occasionally the doors to the elevator on the far end would open with a "ding", and people would shuffle out quietly. She didn't know why this particular "ding" propelled her head up, she didn't even know that the doors opened _with a "ding"_, but that all changed when none other than Jace Wayland came strolling through the doors.

Jace Wayland.

Here. In NYIC.

She couldn't believe it.

Behind him, two dark-haired agents follow him. One, she recognises to be Izzy. The other, however, bears a striking resemblance to her, with dark hair and striking blue eyes. He is just as beautiful as Izzy, though in his own timid way. But that isn't the reason as to why she fees her heart speed up so suddenly. She feels _his _searching, stalking presence as he makes his way through the giant room.

Slowly, she looks up.

He stops in front the reception, leaning his arms heavily on the desk and smiles down at the poor woman manning the reception. She looks extremely confused, as she talks. Jace leans forward, his face lighting up beautifully, no doubt charming her with his words. For some reason, Clary feels a strong urge to hit the receptionist with a bat, as she happily returns the endless flirtations that Jace is undoubtedly giving out.

Then something happens.

The receptionist stretches her hand out. She is pointing at Clary.

A tiny shot of electricity sparks through her, as she feels his gaze fall upon her. His eyes deepen and a playful smirk starts to play on his lips. He nods at the receptionist, who looks like she might faint, before moving on.

He strolls through, hands in his pockets, a smile that could blind, and eyes are beautiful as the sun itself.

All the way through, he holds her eyes in a iron-tight gaze.

She nudges Simon with her elbow. He doesn't so much as move a finger.

She nudges harder.

"Ow!" Simon yelps, jumping forward in his wheely chair, smacking his face into his computer screen. His glasses slide off his nose, falling on the floor, just as three figures approach their joint desk.

"Back so soon?" Clary asks, trying to come off calm and collected, the complete opposite of her sudden thudding heart.

"Couldn't keep myself away." Jace grins mischievously.

Simon whips around and squints his eyes, trying to identify the origin of the voices.

"Where are my glasses?" Simon asks, looking around his desk.

"Jace. Come on." The dark-haired agent behind Jace speaks up. He sounds friendly, she concludes, and categorises him as a non-threat.

"Oh right!" Jace hits his forehead sarcastically and steps back, "This is Alec Ligthwood. My partner in crime. The chocolate to my cookie. The whipped to my cream. The-"

Alec steps forward, albeit a little shyly, and shakes Clary's hand. He smiles nicely and reassuringly, as if to say, _"he isn't normally like this"._

**CIA Agent : Alexander_(Alec)_ Lightwood**

"Will _someone_ please tell me where my glasses are?" Simon asks frustatingly beside her, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Izzy looks behind her, as if she hadn't even noticed there was someone working beside Clary. Izzy scans the floor before bending to pick the glasses up. She places them in Simon's still outstreched hand.

He sighs thankfully and mumbles "thanks", before sliding them on again. He looks up to three, or she thinks, four agents staring right back at him.

"Ah!" He gasps. But the only person he keeps on staring at is the one and only who helped him with finding his glasses.

"Hi." He says, eyes wide, "I'm Simon." He holds his hand out.

Izzy smiles blindingly, showing off a perfect set of teeth, "Izzy." She shakes his hand, and it's as if Clary can see the cogs gearing in Simon's head, as Izzy shakes his hand.

Then she gestures to Jace and Alec before introducing them as well.

* * *

It is first when everybody is acquainted and sat down at Simon and her's work desk with a coffee in hand, that they finally reveal the real reason as to why they are here.

"So, it's no secret that our agencies are rivals." Izzy begins.

"But in spite of this, we have been assigned a mission." Jace continues.

"And what does all of this have to do with us?" Clary inquires suspiciously, not liking how secretive they were being. Simon seems to have noticed it too. He crinkles his nose and leans in, as if expecting some ground breaking news. She almost laughs at the situation.

"You might remember some time ago, when you "visited"," Alec points to Clary, "the CIA. With your father being seen walking out of there with you in tow, the media will naturally write all sorts of nasty articles of our agencies' fiend."

"So...?" Clary continues, not liking where this is going. She could already feel a wave of nervousness and sickness washing over her. If this is leading where she thinks it's leading, she'd be dead.

"Our agencies have been asked to cooperate for the sake of our reputation." Izzy finishes solemnly.

"Not that we have anything against the two of you, at all." Alec quickly adds, smiling apologetically, before shooting Izzy a look.

Jace smirks. "Which means you'll be seeing a lot more of me. Lucky you!" Alec turns to shoot Jace a glare.

"Oh right," Jace rolls his eyes, feigning a look of forgetfulness, "A lot more of _us._" He turns his head and whispers, "Happy?"

* * *

**Hey all my lovely readers,**

**So what do you all think about the ending of this chapter? It would make my day if you dropped a review about the story; things you liked, disliked anything and everything! Tell me your thoughts guys!**

**ALSO. I'm sorry I haven't updated in a loong time, and I'm thinking about putting this story on hiatus, since I have exams and everything. BUT...I might change my mind if the income of reviews are _overwhelming_. Haha yeah okay no pressure ;)**

**Have a great day guys!**

**~Roluv3r**


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